


From the Ashes Rising

by imonlyobsessed



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bottom Dean, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode Related, Episode: s05e16 Dark Side of the Moon, First Time, M/M, Season/Series 05, Suicidal Dean, Suicidal Thoughts, Top Sam, Unsafe Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-22
Updated: 2015-05-22
Packaged: 2018-03-31 16:58:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3985846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imonlyobsessed/pseuds/imonlyobsessed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam’s heaven was Dean’s hell.  All of Sam’s best memories were Dean’s worst, times in Sam’s life that Dean didn’t factor into.  If ever he’d needed the proof that he was worthless, that was more than enough.</p>
            </blockquote>





	From the Ashes Rising

**Author's Note:**

> My laptop keeps giving me the BSOD, so I'm uploading all my old fics to keep them safe. Written way back when as a fixit fic for Dark Side of the Moon.

Sam’s heaven was Dean’s hell.

All of Sam’s best memories were Dean’s worst, times in Sam’s life that Dean didn’t factor into. If ever he’d needed the proof that he was worthless, that was more than enough. He’d always known that Sam didn’t want this life, didn’t want him; he’d just never realized Sam wanted free that badly. Famine had been mostly right about the emptiness. There wasn’t a whole hell of a lot of Dean left. He was so tired, burnt out. He’d given everything he’d had, over and over again for most of his thirty-one years. He was done. He didn’t have anything left to give. The only thing he’d had left at all, the only thing he’d ever kept for himself and refused to let go of, was just a little bit of hope. Not much. Just the smallest hope that he and Sam were in this together. That they were family and that meant something. Even with all the times Sam had abandoned him, taken off running, Dean had always grasped at that hope; that somewhere in Sam’s heart it wasn’t _Dean_ he was running from. Now that was gone too. Bitter and burnt and sitting like ash on his tongue, the last piece he’d had died.

He knew how Cas felt when he watched the angel break down. When Cas tossed him the amulet, “It’s worthless,” Dean caught it more by reflex than anything.

Worthless.

Cas had no idea how right he was.

All those months, he’d missed the weight of it around his neck, the feel of it on his chest. He’d felt naked without it. Now, he knew he would never wear it again. What used to mean so much to him, _SamBrotherLoveSammyHomeSam_ , was just a hunk of metal.

Worthless.

He held it over the trashcan, waiting for the flare of panic, the surge of _Don'tWrong_. He wasn’t surprised when it didn’t come, or by how easy it was to open his hand and let go. He stepped out the door before he could hear the hollow _clank_ when it hit bottom. He just opened the trunk of the car and put his bag in. He left it open for Sam and got behind the wheel.

The sun was strong and bright, and the vinyl was already warm under his fingers. Nothing had changed. The seat still sank under his weight, settling him into the dip he’d created over the years. The car still had the scent of warm rubber, oil, and that indefinable smell that all classic cars have. The light still reflected brightly off her shine, she still shuddered as the trunk was slammed shut, and the hinges on the door still squalled as Sam folded into the passenger seat.

Nothing had changed.

Everything was different.

 “Dean-”

“No.”

He started her up and pulled out of the parking lot. No one had come to investigate the gunshots yet, but they needed to be gone before someone did. He took his turns randomly and just drove. He didn’t know and didn’t care where they ended up; it would be just another town. His eyes never left the road and neither of them spoke as the miles rolled under them. Four hours later, he pulled into a gas station to feed the Impala. Sam disappeared inside while he was waiting on the pump. Good, that made it easier to ignore him. Dean turned and looked out over the car’s roof to the highway beyond. Traffic sped by on both sides of the divided blacktop. Thousands of people would pass this spot today, going about their lives with no idea. What if Dean said yes? If he just screamed it out, right now, and let Michael lay these people to waste in an effort to destroy his brother.

Would it matter?

It didn’t feel like it.

He felt more than heard Sam come up behind him and he realized that the pump had stopped. He hung up the nozzle, still ignoring the presence at his back.

“Do you want-”

Dean walked away. Whatever Sam had, it wasn’t what he wanted. He kept his head down and walked inside as if Sam had never said a word. He pulled Nick Mason’s card out of his wallet and handed it to the cashier. “Four.” It was the first thing he’d said since the hotel.

“The other gentleman already paid for pump four, sir.” The smiling, bubbly blonde handed him the card back. “You have a nice day!”

Nodding, he slipped back outside and into the driver’s seat. A cold bottle of water and some chocolate bars were sitting between them on the bench seat, waiting for him. He shifted into gear and pulled onto the service road, heading away from the interstate and all of its people. Hours later, when he took a curve just a little too fast, the unopened bottle of water rolled off the seat and into Sam’s floorboard. Neither of them noticed.

  
It was two hours after dark that night when Dean pulled into a parking lot. Just another no-tell motel, out in the middle of nowhere. Another bitter night clerk who stank of unwashed sweat and cigarettes, and another filthy, water stained room, complete with burn holes in the carpet. He pulled up in front of their door and dropped the room key onto the dash before going to open the trunk and collect his bag. He could hear Sam open the door before the crunch of gravel meant he was on his way to get his own bag. Dean walked past him into the room, eyes never leaving the ground. Training and years of habit said that now he should be laying salt lines, drawing devils’ traps, and warding the room to make them safe. But none of that did any good against humans or angels. Fuck it. He flopped on the bed on the other side of the room, closest to the TV, and grabbed the remote. He didn’t know what was on; it was just noise, just an excuse not to look at Sam. Sam, who was getting harder to ignore as he moved around the room, laying down salt and drawing symbols on the walls. Doing Dean’s job. He knew he couldn’t ignore this forever; Sam was going to want to _talk_ about it. Like that was going to fix anything. Like that could fix the fact that Dean had been lying to himself his entire life. Clinging to someone that wanted nothing more than to be away from him.  
Yeah, he was going to ignore this for as long as he could.

The other bed groaned in protest as Sam sat down. “Dean?”

He wanted a beer. No, he wanted whiskey. He was entirely too sober for this shit.

“Dean, please.”

Dean sighed and shifted his weight. Fucking pillows were too small.

“For God’s sake, Dean. Can you just look at me, please?” Sam’s voice cracked so badly that the last word actually came out ‘plea-eh’. His eyes were red and swollen, glistening with unshed tears. Shiny, pale tracks lined his cheeks. Apparently, he’d been crying for a while. “Dean, I just- I’m sorry. Man, please, tell me what you want, what can I do?”

“Nothing, drop it.”

“I can’t. Not this time. Fuck, tell me- just- Just say something, Dean.”

“What, Sam? What do you want me to say?”

“I don’t know. Yell at me, scream, cry, cuss, something! Just, fuck, don’t shut me out again.”

“Shut you out? Shut YOU out?” Anger swelled up inside him and, yeah, he had plenty of that left. “I’m not the one whose idea of heaven is eternity alone or with complete strangers. I’m the one who just found out he gave everything, fucking EVERYTHING, for a lie. Do you know what my heaven was? Huh? Do you know what my first memory was?”

“Burning down that field.”

“No, you idiot. It was what happened before that.”

Sam stared at him, incomprehension written on his face. And of course, it figures. One of the happiest moments in Dean’s life and Sam didn’t even remember it. He couldn’t take this. Dean stood and headed for the door.

“Dean, wait.” Sam was right behind him and grabbed his arm, spinning him back around. Didn’t even see Dean’s fist until it knocked his head back.

“NO! You don’t even- Just, no.” He tried to run again, but Sam didn’t let go of Dean’s arm. Instead he pulled, trying to keep Dean from leaving.

“Dean, I’m sorry. Would you just hear me out?”

“What is there to hear, Sam? You have your heaven and none of it includes me. You don’t want to be here, you don’t want me around? Fine. Fuck you too.”

“Dude, it’s not like that.”

“Really? Cuz that’s what it looked like to me. I mean, Stanford? Jesus Christ! My whole world came apart that night. You. Left. Me! You took off and ran away. And fucking Flagstaff? I thought you were DEAD, Sam. When Dad came home, I actually thought he was going to beat me and damned if I didn’t want him too. Tell me, how else I’m supposed to take that, Sam. Especially after my-” Dean bit his lips together. No. Sam had broken him, but fuck if he was going to share that. “Let me go.’ He shrugged, trying to get Sam’s grip off his biceps.

“No.” Sam jerked him again, turning him face to face and grabbed his other arm as well. Dean had had enough. He brought both arms up and rotated them out, breaking Sam’s hold. Fuck running. He stepped into Sam, both hands splayed on Sam’s chest and shoved. His brother rocked backwards, long arms windmilling to keep his balance. Dean followed after him, left fist coming up in a crosscut. Sam regained his balance to take a fist to the jaw snapping his teeth together with a sharp click. He shifted sideways just in time to miss the right that Dean was already throwing. He grabbed the wrist and forearm as they flew past his face, twisting in and under, forcing Dean’s arm behind him. Sam kicked out and connected solidly with Dean’s bad left knee, dropping him to the carpet. As soon as Dean went down, Sam pressed upwards on his elbow, locking Dean’s right arm behind his back. Not terribly painful but he knew if he moved then he could dislocate his own shoulder and Sam could break his arm.

“I don’t want to hurt you, Dean.”

“Too late.”

Sam still wouldn’t let go. “What was your first memory, Dean? What happened before we burned down that field that was so important to you?”

“You, you selfish son of a bitch! It was you. I stole all those fireworks and took you out to set them off. And you were so happy. You were actually dancing out in the field watching the lights and that- it was the happiest I’d ever seen you. So, yeah, Sammy. You wanted to know so badly. The first thing I saw in heaven was you.”

“Fuck you. Even in heaven…” Sam’s voice was thick and wet. “It wasn’t me. It was taking care of me. And you took care of mom. I’m sure if we’d stayed long enough you’d have been taking care of Dad, too. Fuck Dean. Do you hate yourself so much that even in HEAVEN you won’t take anything for yourself?” Sam’s grip had relaxed as he spoke, too involved in his words to pay much attention. Dean surged to his feet, jerking out of Sam’s hands, and spun. He threw himself at his brother. No training, no technique, just rage as he tackled the taller man. Sam let out a startled grunt as they impacted and fell backwards. They landed on a bed and bounced, scrambling at each other in a fury of limbs and half-formed curses, rolling, one over the other, across the bed, briefly tangling in the sheets, and over the other end, landing with a thud on the floor. Dean froze when Sam’s weight dropping down on him drove all the air out of his body. Taking advantage of Dean’s distraction, Sam wrapped his legs around Dean’s, gathered Dean’s wrists in one huge paw and pushed them into the floor above Dean’s head. By the time Dean managed a breath, Sam was sprawled across him pinning him to the ground. They both lay there, gasping, trying to breath past the emotions choking them.

“Goddamnit, Dean, listen to me! Those moments you saw, those memories, they weren’t about you. I never wanted to leave you. But Dad… Dean, don’t you understand how much I hated that man? For what he did to us? For what he did to you?” Dean bucked and struggled, pushing with his arms, stretching with his legs, trying to roll, anything that might get Sam off of him, away from him. “I mean, we had different memories but we were in the SAME HEAVEN. Didn’t you hear Ash? The only people who get that are special. Soul mates. Does that sound like someone I’d want to leave behind?”

“Fuck you. Let me go. You don’t want me. Never wanted me.” Dean gasped out the words between breaths as he kept struggling. Sam strained to hold Dean to the ground, twisting and writhing with him to keep him pinned while Dean cussed up at him. Finally, growling, Sam crashed his mouth against his brother’s, stopping the flow.

And, no no no no no no no!

He can’t do this; Sam can’t do this to him.

He’s already broken, already shattered into a thousand pieces and this, this is going to burn him and scatter the ashes. Dean stilled, shutdown by what was happening. There was a keening sound deep in Sam’s throat and his lips turned soft. Instead of crashing against Dean, bruising them both, they were gentle, claiming Dean as his own in soft promises of flesh. Sam released his wrists and relaxed his hold, but Dean was just as pinned by Sam’s mouth as he had been by Sam’s hands and legs. His brother’s right hand curved gently around the back of his neck, tilting his head slightly so Sam could better slot their lips together. Sam’s left hand traveled Dean’s body; brushing a thumb across Dean’s cheek, smoothing down his arms, fingers splayed wide over his ribs, resting at Dean’s throat, running through his hair. And Dean’s not sure when it happened, but he was crying. No, not crying. Sobbing. Great hiccuping sobs that wracked his whole body. Broken, beaten, sounds that punched out of him as the last of his nothing gave way for all the depression, all the heartbreak, and every bad feeling that he just kept shoving down to come tearing back out. He broke completely under the kisses that Sam pressed into his skin everywhere he could reach; lips against Dean’s lips, brushing his closed eyes, his forehead, his jaw-line, the tip of his nose. Even running up Dean’s cheeks, drinking his tears. All the while Sam was whispering with every kiss, keeping a steady litany of; “Dean” and “want you” and “need you”, “love you”, “right here”, “never leaving”, “Love you so much”. Dean’s fingers were buried in the flesh of Sam’s upper arms, leaving dark, fingertip bruises as he cried himself out. As he finally, finally, let a lifetime of grief and shame and disappointment rush through him, breaking all barriers, and make itself known.

It could have been minutes or hours later that his sobs began to quiet into cries and the occasional hitched breath, and the shuddering that had been overtaking every limb eased into a fine tremor. His hands were cramped and numb from the death grip he had on Sam, but he couldn’t make himself let go. And that was always the problem wasn’t it?

Still, Sam was with him. His left arm under Dean’s back, holding him tightly. Periodically, he’d softly press his mouth to Dean’s. Dean blinked at Sam’s blurry face and that’s when he realized that he’d squeezed his eyes shut long ago. Sam’s eyes were red rimmed but his own tears had stopped falling. His lips were dark and kiss swollen and he was looking at Dean intently. Like he was looking into him, seeing everything deep inside. Dean closed his eyes again, hiding gratefully in the dark. He was still too fragile to face that look. He did manage to unclench his hands and wrap his arms around Sam, laying his palms on his brother’s broad back. Sam sighed softly and leaned into Dean more. “Dean.” Sam sighed his name before covering him again, this time with slightly parted lips and his tongue flicking lightly at Dean’s mouth. Dean surrendered and opened, letting Sam lick his way in and brush against Dean’s tongue. He tasted brine on Sam’s lips. With a start, he realized that he tasted his own tears because Sam had literally been kissing them away. Grief welled up again, tightening his arms around Sam and fresh tears squeezed out from his closed eyes. A small, broken sound escaped him, making Sam draw back. Soft sobs started fresh at the loss. He wasn’t even sure why it hurt; he just knew that it did. He frantically clutched at his brother when he felt Sam start to get up so Sam immediately dropped back down and tightened his own hold on Dean.

“Sh. Sh. Sh. Sh. It’s ok. I’m not leaving you. I just want to get us up off the floor and onto a bed. I’m not going anywhere Dean, I swear. Come on, dude, just sit up with me. I won’t let you go.” Sam gripped Dean’s hands tightly in his own, hard enough to hurt. Sam didn’t let go or even loosen his grip, so Dean didn’t freak out this time when Sam shifted off him. He let Sam lift them up and pull Dean with him onto the bed. They sank down into the mattress and suddenly Dean couldn’t remember ever being more tired. He was used up, physically and emotionally. He felt blank inside. Not like the voided nothing of before; not like a burned out husk. This was a more natural blank. Where he knew he would feel something later, and that it might not be good, but for now he was, well, comfortably numb. He could even keep the numbness as long as Sam stayed and kept the panic at bay.

Sam lay on his side and rolled Dean into the circle of his arms. He tucked Dean under his chin and laid his cheek against Dean’s temple while he threw a leg over Dean and twined them together. Sam’s long arms wrapped around him tightly and kept him pressed to Sam’s chest. Dean could feel his breath, hot and moist, gusting against Sam’s collarbone and bouncing back at him. His brother was curled around him, holding onto him in every way possible. His eyes burned under their lids and it seemed like too much trouble to open them. The battle to keep consciousness was quickly getting away from him.

 

The world behind his eyelids was red. They’d left the lights on. Or maybe it was daylight out, he wasn’t really sure. He did know that now he was laying on his right side with his head pillowed in the crook of Sam’s shoulder. The arm he was laying on curled around him and he had both of his arms wrapped around it, holding it like a lifeline. Sam’s other arm was laid across his waist and went up, under his shirt so that Sam’s left hand was on the center of his chest, right over his heart. Sam had shoved a knee between Dean’s bent legs and Dean had his feet wrapped around Sam’s ankle. He could feel Sam’s head resting on top of his, lips and nose over the sensitive skin behind his ear. Sam’s breathing was steady and measured.

In fact, it was too even: three count in, pause- one- two, three count out, pause- one- two.

Sam was wide-awake and letting Dean feign sleep. Letting Dean decide whether he wanted to face him, face this, or cling to him and take what comfort he could. Panic shot through him when he remembered WHY they were being so touchy-feely. God was an asshole and Dean had lost it like a bitch. And then they’d made out.

Fuck.

He’d made out with his brother. What the fuck was wrong with him? Was he that desperate not to be alone? Was he so needy that he’d really do anything to try filling that emptiness? Maybe. And that scared him. It was right that everyone left him. They WERE better off without him.

Sam breathed deeply and started nuzzling at Dean’s skin. Kissing him softly and nipping at him gently, Sam moved over Dean’s neck and brought his lips to Dean’s ear. “Don’t.” He breathed the word out.

Dean had to clear his throat to find his voice. “Don’t what?”

“You’re starting to freak out. Don’t do it, Dean. Not over this.”

“Really? Then what the hell am I supposed to do it for? Incest isn’t bad enough to freak out over?” His breath hitched when Sam calmly closed his teeth on the shell of Dean’s ear.

“Why? Why is this bad? I love you and I swear on my life, I’m never leaving you again. How is there anything wrong with that? You’re mine, Dean. Just like I’m yours. And I want you. All of you. Everything you have to give to me, I want.” The arms around him tightened, holding him closer. “For fucks sake, last night was the first time I’d seen you have an honest emotion in months. You never once let go of me during the six hours you slept. Why would you let go now?” Sam sat up and leaned over him, letting Dean roll onto his back and turning his face to look up. Sam was still exhausted and bags were starting to show, but his eyes were clear and the look in them stopped Dean’s heart. He saw compassion on Sam’s face, he could feel the fierce protection in Sam’s arms, but all he could see in Sam’s eyes was love.

“But it’s wrong.” It came out as a weak whisper. Even Dean didn’t believe it.

“Says who? Society? The clueless cannon fodder we’ve destroyed ourselves protecting? The ones who know nothing about us or what we do? Or maybe you’re worried about God. What was it you called him, another dead-beat dad with excuses? Yeah, because he obviously cares what we do. You know, what with all the help he’s given us and all the things he’s done in our lives. Oh, and not to mention him failing to STOP THE APOCALYPSE. Let’s not forget about that. Fuck God! This?” Sam flexed his hands, digging his fingers into the skin of Dean’s chest. “This is what matters. You and me. What we think, how we feel. That’s the only thing that can decide this for us. “

“Sam-”

Sam growled and cut him off by capturing Dean’s mouth. He was just as tender as the night before, but somehow more insistent. This was less about showing Dean love and more about claiming him. Sam pulled his knee out from between Dean’s and his arm out from under Dean’s body. Dean rolled the rest of the way onto his back when Sam reclaimed his arm. Part of him cringed at the loss even as Sam shoved his tongue past Dean’s lips. He kissed like he was trying to memorize the shape of Dean’s mouth before curling his tongue around Dean’s and, holy fuck, Sam was good at that. Dean pushed up into the kiss and began his own, almost timid exploring. Hesitantly, he raised his hand and cupped Sam’s jaw, threading the tips of his fingers in that long hair. Sam leaned into Dean, settling more weight on his brother’s frame. Without really meaning to, Dean spread his legs, letting Sam slip between them. He could feel Sam pressed against his inner thigh and, oh shit, Sam was hard. He started wiggling his hips and thighs, trying to move away from the press of Sam’s dick without actually pulling away. Still mauling Dean’s mouth, Sam ran his hands down Dean’s sides, grabbed the hollows of Dean’s hips, and pressed him into the bed, holding him still. Throwing his head back at the contact, Sam ground against him in one slow thrust. Running his entire length hard up the crease of Dean’s thigh, over his pelvic bone and along his aching cock.

“God, Dean.” Suddenly, Sam was at his mouth again, sucking Dean’s lower lip between his teeth and biting down. Mewling noises started and it took Dean a moment to realize that it was him making them. Sam rocked them steadily together as he bit his way down Dean’s jaw to his throat. It wasn’t enough friction to get them anywhere, just enough to drive Dean mad. He bit harder at Dean’s throat, marking him just below his jaw. Dean’s back arched and a ragged gasp, “Sam!” exploded out of him. He wasn’t sure himself if he’d meant, “Sam, stop!” or “Sam, harder!”

Somewhere too deep and beaten to name he knew it felt like a prayer.

Sam sucked a hickey on his skin. “Want you, Dean. Want you so bad. Need you.” Sam sank his teeth in where neck meets shoulder, biting down just this side of drawing blood and growling into Dean’s skin. Oh, God. Sam was marking him, _claiming_ him. Sam wanted him. Really wanted him, and Dean gave Sam the only answer he’d ever truly been able to give. Dean ran his hands down Sam’s back and grabbed his ass to pull him tighter while Dean bucked up against him. Rutting them roughly together, trying for more friction, more pressure against his dick, against Sam’s hard length.

“JesusFuck!” Still thrusting, Sam started pawing frantically at the buttons of Dean’s over-shirt. The stitches were fraying around the buttonholes and thread wrapped around the buttons, halting Sam’s progress. Growling his frustration, Sam grabbed the shirt and ripped, popping buttons and thread. Shoving his hands beneath the undershirt, Sam wrapped his arms around Dean and pulled, sitting them both up. Dean realized what Sam was doing and threw his arms up as the shirts were ripped over his head. His clothes went flying across the room and landed in a heap against the wall. He eyes snapped back in time to see Sam rip his own shirt open. The fitted black western shirt he was wearing had snaps instead of buttons and Dean could hear the rapid-burst clicks they made. Sam reached over his shoulders and grabbed his shirts by the back, pulling all of them over his head and off at once. A blur of black and white fabric sailed through the air to join Dean’s pile.

Sam was on him again, fucking Dean’s mouth with his tongue as he pressed the line of their bodies together, sliding skin against skin. Dean could feel their hearts jackhammering against each other because Sam was right there and, fuck, that felt good. Running his hands all over Sam, like he was starved for touch, he couldn’t get enough. Enough of Sam’s mouth on him, enough of the soft, slick rush of skin under his fingers, enough of Sam grinding against him. Enough of the moans Sam was making. He wanted more. He needed more. He tore his mouth from Sam’s and arched his whole body up, pushing against his brother. Sam’s fingers gripped tightly around his hip as he started grinding harder. “Jesus Christ, Dean. So fucking hot.” Dean reached for Sam’s jeans, popping the button and rolling the zipper in one fluid movement. Sam gave a hoarse yell when Dean reached into his boxers and wrapped a hand around his dick. Dean gripped firmly and jerked slowly, rolling his thumb across Sam’s slit, smearing precome with every swipe, slicking his hand with it. Sam was frozen above him, head thrown back, fingers dug painfully into Dean’s hips. He was beautiful.

Dean licked the line of Sam’s throat. “I want to taste you.”

A shudder wracked through Sam’s body, “Fuck yes.” Dean let go as Sam rolled off him, panting heavily, and sprawled out on the bed. Dean rose to his knees and reached for Sam’s jeans again, peeling the last of Sam’s clothes away and tossing them the general direction his own had gone. His eyes never left Sam. He was drinking in the sight, gaze trailing the hard lines of Sam’s body. Sam’s eyes were dark, lust-blown pupils making them look almost black. The beginnings of stubble accented his cheekbones and jaw-line. The hard plains of his chest heaving with his rapid breathing, skin lighter there because of the layers of clothes Sam always wore. The cut muscles of his stomach twitching and shifting as he obviously fought his body’s desires to keep thrusting. A small puddle of precome forming on his abs where his rigid cock was resting now that it was free of his jeans. Dean’s own dick twitched in interest. He leaned over and lapped the precome off Sam’s abs, his tongue brushing the head briefly. Sam jumped and his dick jerked, smearing a quick clear line across his skin. Moving to the side, Dean kissed and gently bit his way down Sam’s hips to his thighs, the smell of Sam thick in his senses. He stopped at the inner thigh and crossed to the other side, making his way back up teasing along every inch of skin. Sam was quivering and shiny in another puddle by the time a breath ghosted across the head of his dick. “Dean, need you. Please.” A sound almost like a sob came from Sam’s chest.

Dean flicked his tongue out and across the slit. Sam tasted like he smelled, musky and earthy with just the slightest edge of salt. He leaned down and licked up Sam’s entire length, base to tip before he curled his tongue around the head, pressing slightly. Sam made another sound, somewhere between a shout and a word. Dean smirked before he closed around Sam and took him in, loving the way Sam’s hips twitched up at Dean before he could stop them. Dean slowly sucked his way down, taking as much as would fit in his mouth without straining. A heavy hand settled on his head. Not pushing, just resting in his hair. Dean pulled back up to suck hard at Sam’s head and circle his tongue around the tip once. He wrapped his hand around the base before driving back down, hard and fast until his lips met his hand. Sam came up off the bed, curling around him. Dean laid his other hand on Sam’s stomach, easing him back down onto the bed. He settled into a quick rhythm, dragging his hand with his mouth, alternating between sucking and drooling, slicking Sam’s length and covering most of it as he moved. Sam had started talking above him, a constant flow of words washing over him, cussing and praising, moaning and yelling. “Shit! So hot. Pretty cock-sucking lips. Just- oh fuck, Dean. Your goddamn MOUTH.”

Sam’s hands were clenching and unclenching in the sheets and grabbing at Dean’s hair, nails dragging across his scalp. Dean could feel the muscles of Sam’s stomach bunching and shifting under his hand. He moved his other hand off Sam’s cock and started taking more, bumping the back of his throat on every down stroke. Sam lost his battle and thrust up into Dean’s mouth, his hand still holding Dean’s head. Dean opened and relaxed his throat, letting Sam shove all the way in until Dean’s lips were wrapped around the base, flush against his body. Sam froze, cock twitching in Dean’s throat as he realized how far he was in. Then he slammed back down onto the bed. He used his hold in Dean’s hair to jerk Dean off of him as every muscle he had shook. Dean could tell that Sam was on the very edge, just a touch away from coming. He tried to lean back over but Sam’s grip tightened, stopping his movement. Eventually Sam’s breathing slowed and the tremors in his body eased.

He finally managed to open his eyes and focus on Dean.

“You’ve done that before.”

It wasn’t a question, but Dean nodded slightly. “When you’re not around, it’s not always a woman I leave the bars with.”

Sam’s brows drew downward and his face went dark. The sound that crawled out of his throat was too deep, too angry to be called a growl. He dragged Dean up to him, crashing their mouths together. One hand clamped on the back of Dean’s neck, holding him to Sam’s biting kisses, the other digging painfully into his skin, raking angry furrows down his back.

“Never again!” Sam gasped out when he released Dean’s mouth. He rolled them, pressing Dean hard into the mattress before he was at Dean’s jeans, violently ripping them off. He was immediately back on Dean, driving against him. Jesus was Sam?.. Sam was _jealous_. “Never again, Dean.” Sam’s voice was burning with anger and command. Oh, he should not be allowed to sound like that. Sam was attacking him again, biting hard at his lips and throat and jaw. “MINE!” Sam hissed the word into Dean’s ear as he wrapped a hand around Dean’s dick. Dean bucked, fucking up into his brother’s fist. “Do you hear me, Dean? Nobody else gets to have you!” Yes, Sam, yes. “Man, woman, I don’t care. None of them get to touch you from now on. You’re mine!” A deep moan rumbled through him, everything Sam was saying echoing around inside him. Sam slowed his hand and licked the hickies he’d strung across Dean’s skin. “Say it.” he whispered. “Let me hear it from you. Say it for me, Dean.”

“Yours, Sam. Always yours.” He had to force the words around the block in his throat. Behind closed eyes, he felt tears prick at him.

“I want to fuck you. I want to have all of you.” It was the gentlest Sam’s voice had been since Dean woke up. “I’m going to find something to use for lube and then I am going to fuck you, ok?” Dean didn’t bother answering. He knew that Sam wasn’t really asking permission, he was easing Dean into a solid fact. Sam kissed him and slid off the bed, solid muscle and graceful motion. Dean watched him dig briefly through his bag before disappearing into the bathroom. A fine tremor was running through Dean as he wrapped his mind around what was going on. He vibrated with need for Sam; his lips were swollen from Sam’s kisses and Sam’s cock. Every inch of his throat felt bruised, inside and out, and all he could do was wait for Sam to come back. He was strung-out and naked in bed, waiting desperately for his baby brother to come fuck him. This was so fucked. And yet… He couldn’t stop thinking about it.

Holy hell, Sam had been so hot writhing under Dean’s mouth. He shuddered and started absently stroking himself. God the way Sam had come apart for him, without even getting off. He tightened his grip and moved faster. The filthy shit Sam had said, Christ that was hot. Something in Dean’s stomach twisted, his legs fell further apart and his heels dug into the mattress. The orgasm caught him totally by surprise. He was remembering the feel of Sam shoving into him, running his tongue around in his mouth, still tasting Sam and suddenly the world blacked out. He arched up against his own grip and felt the hot splashes of come stinging his chest as he stroked himself through it. Jesus, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d got himself off, let alone come that hard. Oh no. Shit, he was supposed to be waiting for Sam. He hadn’t meant for Dean to finish yet. Sam was going to be pissed. He opened his eyes and found Sam standing at the foot of the bed, watching him, a small bottle forgotten in his hand. “Sam, I-” he didn’t know what to say. Sam stalked up the bed, straddling Dean’s legs as he crawled.

Sam’s voice dragged out of him, graveled and low. “You’re amazing to watch. Totally lost to it, muscles rolling like water. Jesus. We’re going to do that some time. I’m not going to touch you, I’m just going to sit back and watch you enjoy yourself. Watch you come again and again, and spill yourself everywhere.” Sam licked out, running his tongue up Dean’s stomach and chest, lapping up the pearly-white strands, cleaning his skin of every drop. There was a rumble deep in Sam’s chest. If Dean didn’t know better he would swear Sam was purring.

“What are you, a fucking cat?” His voice was rough with post-orgasm haze and disuse. What he meant to come out sarcastic and teasing came out husky. A different kind of teasing all together.

Sam chuckled and licked up Dean’s throat to his mouth and grinned wickedly at him. “Meow.”

And really, on no plane of existence should that have been anything but corny, but Dean’s dick apparently didn’t get that memo because it twitched hard, valiantly trying to rise. The fact that Sam licked his way into Dean’s mouth right then might not have hurt either. Dean fisted his hands in that long hair and shoved back at Sam’s mouth. He could taste himself on Sam’s tongue. Different from Sam, more bitter, more salt. Sam pulled back too soon. “Spread your legs for me.”

Ok, maybe it wasn’t too soon. Dean spread wide, giving Sam room to settle. He opened the bottle he’d carried in from the bathroom. Dean squinted at it, surprised to find it was the mini bottle of conditioner. Sam saw his gaze and shrugged, “It works well enough.”

Dean really looked at Sam then. He knew that there were missing years. Fuck did he know it. He knew, logically, that there were things Sam had done during those years that they had never talked about. Parts of Sam’s life that he’d missed. But somehow, even with his own sneaking around, THAT had never crossed his mind. Sam’s hot, and it had been college, so it shouldn’t have surprised him. Somehow, it caught him off guard. A small pang of jealousy rippled through him. “You’ve done this before.” He wanted to say it. But he knew he couldn’t. He knew what Sam had been doing lately. Or, more to the point, _not_ doing. Unlike Dean, Sam had never tomcatted around. Whoever the other guy (or guys) had been, it was years behind them. Dean didn’t say anything but he did realize something. He may not have been Sam’s first, but he wanted to be the last.

Sam squeezed a generous amount of conditioner onto his fingertips and spread it over his skin, warming it slightly while he leaned down and gently took Dean’s spent cock in his mouth. To that still over-sensitized flesh the hot, wetness of Sam’s mouth was like fire, spreading through his body. While his senses were overloaded on his dick, Sam circled his slick fingers around Dean’s hole, pressing gently at the outer ring and spreading that slick glide over Dean. Slowly, so slowly, Sam began to push in. A mild burn joined the first as Sam breached him. By now his dick was definitely recovering, swelling in Sam’s mouth. Sam moaned around him, sending vibrations straight up Dean’s spine. At the same time, he started moving his hand, mirroring the push of his finger with the push of his mouth until Dean shuddered and began to relax around him. When Dean started to move his hips, Sam pulled away, slicking another finger.

The burn was harsher this time as Sam twisted his hand and scissor his fingers. It wasn't too long before Dean was rocking up into Sam's mouth and grinding down on his hand. By the time he was stretched around a third finger, Dean was gasping, trying to stop the needy noises that kept spilling out of him. Sam released his dick with a final swipe of tongue. "Are you ready?"

"Yes, fuck me. God, please, fuck me."

The loss of Sam’s hand jarred him, he kept rocking down at the emptiness, trying to get that full feeling back. His thighs were shoved up and to the sides as Sam positioned himself, cock already shining and slick. He touched the head right to Dean’s opening and paused. Sam caught and held Dean’s eyes as he slowly forced his way in. No matter how much prep they did, no matter how much lube they used, Sam was freaking huge. Dean breathed deeply trying to relax the tightness in his body. Sam had to stop and breathe himself when Dean’s muscles clamped around him. But his eyes never left Dean’s face; never stopped watching every nuance of Dean’s expression. He ran his hands feather-light up and down Dean’s side, across his chest and stomach, gently stroking Dean’s skin; soothing him like a startled animal, easing him as inch by burning inch Sam sank deeper. Finally, Sam’s hips were fitted against the curve of Dean’s ass, all his length buried in Dean’s tight heat. They kissed, almost languidly, slow and sloppy as Sam moved his hips in small circles, stretching Dean that last bit.

“Are you good?” He asked against Dean’s lips.

“Dude, I’m not gonna break, it’s just been a while.” Sam gave a couple short thrusts, experimenting. “Sam.” Dean’s plaintive moan was enough. Sam drew back, pulling almost all the way out and slammed in, up to the hilt. Dean’s head snapped back, baring a line of throat that Sam latched his teeth into. Dean’s legs came up, wrapping around Sam’s waist and his hands flew back, smacking the short headboard before clutching the top and holding on. No more hesitation, Sam began to well and truly fuck him. And God, was Sam enthusiastic. Ramming into him; snapping his hips forward with every thrust causing that stinging slap of flesh on flesh; filling Dean up. Dean reveled in the filthy things coming out of Sam’s mouth, every word flaring through him making him feel so _dirtywronggoodmore._

“So fucking tight, jesusfuck! God you feel so good, even better than I’d imagined. Love you; love the feel of you around me.” Sam sat up; pushing Dean’s legs back against his chest and spreading him wider. Sam’s hands stayed tight on the backs of Dean’s thighs, holding him open as Sam changed his angle; sharper, deeper, smacking against Dean’s ass with every thrust. “Dean, Dean, Dean, Dean.” Sam said it like a chant as he watched himself, disappearing into soft flesh. Dean started to reach for Sam, wanting to touch him in some way, anywhere he could reach. “No. Keep your hands there.” Dean grabbed the headboard again. “I like this, seeing you stretched out underneath me, letting me take you hard. So gorgeous.” Sam’s register dropped, his voice catching and stuttering with his hips. “So eager for it. God the way you keep clenching around my dick.” Dean lost himself to it, straining against his grip on the headboard (don’t let go, Sam said no), arms and neck cording with tension. His back arched as he tried wildly, desperately to thrust and move. Sam’s grip stayed on Dean’s thighs and kept him pinned to the bed, mostly immobile. Sam jerked out of him, leaving Dean gasping sobbing at the sudden loss. “HOLY FUCKING CHRIST!” the shout exploded out of Sam’s throat. “Fuck Dean!”

“God, why? Why did you stop?” Dean sounded on the edge of tears.

“Had to or I was gonna come and I’m not ready for this to be over.” Sam wrapped his still slicked hand around Dean’s cock and watched Dean rock mindlessly into it. “You can put your legs down now if you want, but keep them spread and keep your hands on the headboard. Fuck, I never dreamed it would be that good inside you.” Sam kept his wrist moving. “I can’t wait to shove back in, let you take all of my cock and watch you move.” Dean moved now, full body waves trying to buck into Sam’s grip without putting his legs down, without having purchase. “You know what does surprise me though? How much you like this; hearing me tell you what I want, and how you look, and what I’m going to do to you. I never knew you had such a bullet-proof kink.” Sam licked the precome off Dean’s tip. “Mm. And I love how eager you are, how bad you want it.” Dean’s eyes were gone, pupils blown lust-wide only the smallest edge of green was showing. His breathing was erratic and harsh as every muscle in his body strained towards Sam. He was past thinking, he just wanted. “I want to do something for you now, since you’ve been so good for me. What do you want, Dean? How do you want me?”

Dean didn’t understand at first. That was a question, not an order, not a fact. His mind dragged back from the feel of Sam’s hand on his dick and actually processed what Sam was saying. What did he want? That was simple. He wanted Sam.

“You, Sammy.”

Sam slowed his hand as a small smile ghosted his lips. “Come here, then.”

Dean was off the headboard and wrapping around his brother, circling his arms and legs behind Sam. He sucked on the skin of Sam’s throat, finally making his own mark, and rolled the taste of Sam’s skin on his tongue. Sam put his hands under Dean’s thighs, supporting his weight long enough to turn and roll them. He settled Dean above him and laid back. Dean stared at him, eyes wide and startled until Sam brushed his cock across Dean’s hole. Taking it for the invitation it was, Dean lifted up and slowly impaled himself on that hard length. Huge hands gripped deep into his thighs as he slid down. “Christ.” He just sat for a moment, adjusting to the sharpness of this new angle. Sam was in him as deep as it was possible to get, filling him so completely it seemed like he could feel it in his chest. A pressure, tightness, making it hard to breath. He rolled his hips, just reveling in the feel of Sam inside him. Then he slowly started to lift up to his knees, dragging the hot, wet flesh back out, until Sam’s tip was just barely still inside him. Sam’s hands moved from his the tops of his thighs to his hips, holding him in place. “Is this what you want?”

“Yes.” It was breathy and light and he couldn’t stop it from coming out that way. Sam’s hands slid around and down his ass, then to the sides of his thighs.

“Then do it. Ride me. Fuck yourself on my cock and take what you want.”

Dean whined and dropped down hard, causing both brothers to hiss and arch their spines. Dean did what Sam told him. He rode hard and fast, sweating and moaning as he took Sam’s cock over and over again. Swiveling his hips on each down stroke, changing the angles. Trying to hit it, trying to find-

The world exploded into a white haze behind his eyes and every nerve ignited. “Fuck, right there!” Dean blurted it out with no thought. He’d found it. He tilted his hips so he could keep hitting that spot that sent shocks through him and lost himself to the feel of it as he fucked.

“Close, so close.” Sam’s hands tightened on Dean’s thighs as he thrusted up into Dean’s writhing, flailing form. “Wanna feel you come around me, wanna watch you come apart. Come for me, Dean.” A strangled noise escaped Dean’s throat and he reached for his dick, desperate to do what Sam asked.  
“No.” Sam grabbed his hands and held onto them. “That’s not what I want. I never said ‘touch yourself’. I told you to come for me. Do it, Dean. Come for me.” Dean shuddered because he understood now. Sam wasn’t asking him, Sam was _ordering_ him. He literally wanted Dean to come on command. The idea slammed into him and Dean’s thrust got shorter and jerky as he found himself on the edge.

“That’s it. Good boy. Give it to me. Come for me, Dean. Come for me, now!” With a startled yell, Dean’s whole body clamped, vice-like, as he spilled his pleasure in a hot rush, shooting all over his chest and stomach and Sam’s body. Sam kept his tight grip on Dean’s hands, driving hard into him as Dean rode out the orgasm. “So hot, so good, D-Dean.” Sam’s body locked too as his own orgasm charged through him. Dean could feel the heat and wetness suddenly filling his body. Sam, marking him, claiming that last piece for his own. Dean slumped forward, panting and exhausted on Sam’s chest. It was too girly for words, but he didn’t really want to move. Sam was softening quickly but still inside Dean and he didn’t want to lose that connection just yet.

Huge arms wrapped around him, keeping them together, both of them shivering from the pleasure high and the sweat cooling on their bodies. He felt the muscles under his cheek shift as Sam lifted his head. Dean turned his face and met his brother, sinking into those lips and lazily, lovingly rubbing their tongues together. He belonged to Sam. He always had, it was just, now Sam knew how much he owned Dean. Now he owned Dean’s body as well as his soul. The thought should have scared him, but feeling his little brother’s soft lips pressing into him, he really couldn’t be afraid.

“We need to get cleaned up and go out.”

“Why?” Dean rested his head again, pillowing his cheek on Sam’s chest.

“Because you need to eat. You haven’t had anything since the night before last, and even then, all you had was alcohol. I don’t like that. I want you to eat, really eat, and not drink tonight.” Now that it had been mentioned, he realized that good sex probably wasn’t the only thing making him weak. He didn’t actually feel like eating, though. He felt like laying here and letting Sam hold him. Keeping this thing between them going so he wouldn’t have a chance to poke at it. Sighing, he levered himself up, gasping at the feel of Sam slipping out of him. From the look on Sam’s face, he’d thought it hurt a little too. Dean was a little unsteady on his feet as he made his way in to the bathroom. Sam followed right behind him, close enough that Dean could feel the line of heat from Sam’s body.

There was no doubt about it, he was hurting, a deep ache that he felt with every breath. Somehow, he didn’t see lasting through a shower. He grabbed the one washcloth and turned on the hot water in the sink. “Here, let me.” Sam reached for the white cloth.

“Dude, I’m not a freaking invalid.”

The smile he saw Sam give him in the mirror was soft. “No, you’re not.” Sam simply held his hand out, waiting patiently.

He huffed as he slapped it into Sam’s hand. “You giant girl.”

Undaunted, Sam just started running the warm cloth down the back of Dean’s neck and across his shoulders. It was awkward for him to just stand there and let Sam take care of him. But, in the privacy of his own mind at least, he could admit that it wasn’t bad. When, instead of turning Dean, Sam stepped up against his back and reached around to wipe his chest and lower; he might have even thought it felt… nice. He looked at them in the mirror; Sam huge and dangerous and perfect behind him, almost like he was sheltering Dean. And Dean looked like he needed it. His eyes were circled with dark rings; lines of exhaustion were etched between his brows and around his mouth. His throat and jaw were covered with bite marks and hickies, so many of them they ringed his throat like an obscene necklace. Maybe he could tell people he was choked. Fingertip bruises had also blossomed on his hips and thighs. And, if the sweat-sting on his back was any indication, there were going to be curved red scratches running from his shoulders to the top of his ass. “Fuck. I’ve walked away from hunts less abused.” Sam met his eyes in the mirror and his look darkened. Dean watched a little breathlessly as Sam leaned over and, very gently, nipped an already forming bruise. A burst of _goodhurt_ shot through him.

“Just claiming what always should have been mine.”

“Like you can honestly tell me that I’m your first.” He hadn’t meant to say anything; it just slipped out, bitter and hurt. Sam stopped and met Dean’s wounded expression. Keeping Dean’s eye, Sam wrapped both arms around him and kissed the un-bruised and sensitive skin behind his ear.

“No. But I’m hoping you’ll be my last.”

 

In the ashes, something stirred.


End file.
